


What Matters

by orphan_account



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Found Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Orphan Squad, Taako and Angus, have a secret handshake.





	

I.

You don't see what the big deal is. It's just a secret handshake between you and your apprentice.

But every time you high five, a glittering clap together of magenta and blue Mage Hands, you get side-eyed by your friends and coworkers. They don't _get_ it but they don't know how to breach it. You know _why_ they're side-eyeing.

The Mage Hands, of course, are not the problem. Having a secret handshake isn't really an issue, either. It's the whole _Orphan Squad_ you gleefully cheer together when you do it _thing_ that's causing tension.

It's not like you and Angus are the only fucking orphans on the moon. You know Magnus was basically a street rat himself, living in some guy's workshop and chopping wood for food and shelter. Merle had family, but they were distant and cold. Same difference, at the end of the day.

Hell, you couldn't go into Fantasy Wendy's without spotting a handful of people you know had one or less parent.

You and Angus are cool though, you _embrace_ it.

You wish you had someone in your life when you were Angus' age to tell you the cold hard fucking truth-- family isn't real, and you don't _need_ it.

That Angus is a good kid though, and he gets it.

That's all that matters.

II.

Sometimes, Angus cries despite himself.

Sometimes, though Angus is a good kid, he _doesn't_ get it. He doesn't get why his parents up and _left_ him to go fight in some fucking _war_. He was just a baby. He was so small. He'd never even met them.

Sometimes, you catch Angus before the tears start, to crack a joke and make some hot cocoa and get your manicure on. You paint his toe nails and gossip. You let him talk for an hour about a theory he has about those fucking books he likes so much. You keep pretending you haven't read them, just so he can gleefully recount what happened and you can playfully pretend you'll consider finally cracking it open.

(You've read them all, twice over.)

(They were okay.)

Other times, he's already crying.

You don't really know what to do with that. He just cries and cries against you, tears and snot soaking your designer blouse. You hug him close and rest your cheek on his head, but he doesn't seem to feel any better. You don't feel like you're really doing anything to help, either.

But you remember crying. You remember the adults around you turning a blind eye, ignoring you.

You remember being alone.

That's all that matters.

III.

Things go south sometimes, and it's not your fault.

But you know that it _feels_ like your fault.

You're intimately well acquainted with what that _feels_ like.

 _Angus is fine_ , Merle says. _He just needs a heal_.

It feels more like _you_ got run through with a broad sword, like it was _your_ insides that threatened to spill upon a cave floor. You've died before, a dozen times in fact, and this felt infinitely worse than all of those times put together.

But Angus _is_ fine. Angus is tired and lying with his head in your lap, taking a well deserved breather as the blood on his clothes dries black and Magnus and Merle look over a map.

He holds up a hand for a high five and a laugh bubbles out of you despite yourself. You see the tear fall and hit the kid's chest and you've only just now realized you've been crying this whole time.

“Don't scare me like that, kiddo.”

“Sorry, sir.”

You high five him, and then entwine your fingers together. You can't help but squeeze.

Angus feels a little cold and it's enough to make you _crumple_ completely over him, face burying into the crook of his neck as the first sob chokes out.

“Don't scare me like that!”

You keep telling yourself it's not your fault.

Angus doesn't blame you. He squeezes your hand hard, he feels a little warmer.

He's fine.

That's all that matters.

IV.

Angus is eager to learn offensive spells, and while he knows _why_ you're doing it he doesn't bring it up.

You can see it in his face, in the way he guards his middle. His first real taste of how dangerous being a Tres Horny Boy is spooked him.

You wish it had only _spooked_ you.

You still can see it, the sword going right _through_ him like it was nothing. Hear the grunt of a man so heartless and wretched that he'd kill a kid. Smell the coppery tang of too much blood spilling from one small boy.

“Hey, kiddo?”

“Yes, sir?”

You conjure Mage Hand, and you can't help but grin when Angus follows suit in glee.

(He's gotten good at it, he doesn't even have to think about it, it has the right number of fingers and everything.)

“Fuck the Orphan Squad, though.” You high five anyway, but Angus looks at you, stricken with a distress he is trying to hide.

“Sir?”  
“I'm not gonna be good at it,” you warn.

“Sir...?”  
“In fact there's like. I can think of ten other people on this moon alone who'd be better at it. Magnus. Merle. Killian? Fuck yeah Killian would be great.” You find yourself reaching for the joke, getting uncomfortable with the real sentiment. You push past it. You have to, you can't get lost in that trap right now. “So fuck the Orphan Squad.”  
“Sir, I'm not following.” His voice sounds so small, he sounds so hurt.

It's killing you all over again, but you place your hands on his shoulders and force a nervous smile.

“I was wrong, Ango. About family. I was really fucking wrong. I'm wrong about a lot of shit. I'm gonna be bad at this. But I don't want you to die not having one. A family, I mean. Well, I mean, you have one. You've always had one.” You pause, trying to read Angus' wide eyed expression. “You know that, don't you, pumpkin?”

Angus gives the smallest of nods, cheeks flushing, eyes wet with tears threatening to fall. “Yes sir.” His voice is still _so small_ , like he's trying not to get his hopes up.

But when you pull him forward into a hug Angus goes for it, not hesitating, arms tight around your middle and face pressed up hard against your chest. You crane your head down and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“I'm gonna be super fucking bad at this,” you warn again. “I've never been in a family.”

“Me neither,” he mumbles back.

“Like really fucking bad at it, Ango.”

“Sir.”

“Like _really really fucking b--_ ”  
“Dad, stop!” Angus laughs, squeezing you tighter. It sounds weird to you, but Angus says it again, quieter, more earnestly. He says a few times until it stops sounding so strange.

You _are_ going to be bad at it. You've never done this or anything like it before.

That son of yours is a good kid though, and he gets it.

That's all that matters.

 


End file.
